


Where I Slept With the Angels

by rivlee



Series: Nashville [3]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duro's still wondering about where his band has brought him. Part of a crossover 'verse with the HBO War Fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where I Slept With the Angels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amorekay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorekay/gifts).



> A birthday fic for Kay. Title from The Horrible Crowes' _I Believe Jesus Brought Us Together_

Nasir had made it a rule at _Villa Libertas_ that no smoking was allowed inside the home that doubled as their studio space. He refused to allow damage to the equipment, and since artists came to work with _them_ , those demands were always met with respect. Duro didn’t even pity the fools who were too stupid to violate one of Nasir’s rules; dude was stone-cold tough, no matter how much Agron waxed poetic about his shiny hair. 

It didn’t bother Duro too much; he had to leave most of his vices behind when he realized what non-stop touring could do to his vocal chords. It wouldn’t have mattered if Duro sang with a rough, gravely tone, but he was known for a more melodic style. It was one of Per Aspera’s trademarks, taking off a bit of the Goth Metal genre. He still had those cravings though; when his nerves were shot, (a common thing having the whole band in an enclosed space to make a new album), and his fingers shook with the urge for just a taste. It took him so fucking long to quit in the first place though, that he refused to go back.

It didn’t mean he wouldn’t take this; breathing in the unfiltered smoke of the other addicts on the back porch. Duro never thought he’d see the day where he was shooting the shit with Snafu Shelton, but this was his life now. He rubbed his bare arms and wished he remembered his coat. Snafu’s lips curled up in a dangerous smirk.

“Boys like you always think the South be some warm place. They always forget Nashville’s got mountains around it.”

Duro frowned. “It’s true; everything the country music videos told me was a lie.”

Chadara’s soft laughter drew his attention. She winked at him as she stole the cigarette from Snafu’s fingers and took a quick drag. 

“Nasir know you do that?” Duro asked.

Chadara rolled her eyes. “He ain’t my daddy, Duro, just my friend and business partner. As long as I don’t stink up his pride and joy, he don’t give a fuck.”

Duro nodded. “Studio equipment is really fucking expensive.”

Snafu looked at him like he was the dumbest man to ever live. “She means his hair, numb nuts.” He turned to Chadara and trailed his tanned fingers down her pale arm. “Where’d you find this one?”

“In the same Lost and Found bin where we got you,” she said. She flicked the ash off the cigarette. “I’m still trying to get a refund, but they don’t give those on charity cases.”

Snafu just shook his head as his now empty fingers twitched. He started to hum a song under his breath and Duro watched his fingers as they moved over absent strings and frets. Snafu was one of those types never too far from his art. Maybe it explained the madness so evident in his eyes, but fuck, Duro couldn’t throw stones. 

“The Yankee’s gone quiet like,” Snafu drawled. 

Chadara smirked. “Shouldn’t he be a Carpet Bagger instead?”

Duro rolled his eyes as he leaned back into the smooth wooden beams of the deck. “And here I thought the War of Northern Aggression ended a century ago.” He winked at the look Chadara gave him. “Mira made us go to one of those cultural sites in the city. I learned something.”

He felt it best not to inform everyone that Agron was kind of obsessed with the Civil War as a kid; that it still remained his dream to follow the itinerary laid out in _Confederates in the Attic_ , and how he’d actually faked sick one night to get out of an Afterparty so he could watch a documentary on Gettysburg. Fratricide would be too kind a word for what Agron would do to him. 

Duro turned his eyes to the horizon. He never imagined recording in Nashville would be like this; he expected something more like Savannah he guessed, all huge trees and sweeping plantations. Instead he saw gritty street corners and one long-ass road of record company headquarters. There were still those palatial homes, off the road and up on hills, but the city itself felt dark where Duro expected warmth. Maybe it had something to do with the skyscraper that reminded him of Batman’s mask; or maybe it was more Eye of Sauron. He hadn’t really had a chance to decide before they started the near-hour long drive out here. Flat land full of horse farms and even a goat or two at the roadside surrounded them. It was _so_ rural, so old Hollywood main street, that Duro couldn’t help but be charmed. It almost worried him how easy it felt to slide into this life, almost like it _could_ be a home. 

He missed that sense of place. They’d spent so long on the road, that home felt like the cramped bunk on a tour bus more than Grandpa’s house back in Pennsylvania. There was a sadness there, but Duro didn’t have anything back in Pennsylvania to call him back or tie him down. He had no reason to plant those roots again. A cigarette butt hit him in the forehead and he blinked back to reality.

“Told you those Northern kids were nothing but trouble,” Snafu said. He slithered as he up and pressed a kiss to Chadara’s cheek. “I’ve got to get back to the city. Lieb’s flying in.”

“Don’t fuck in the parking lot again,” she called after him. 

“No promises,” Snafu said. He slinked off, moving more like a predatory animal than a normal human.

“You don’t ever get used to him,” Chadara said. She patted Duro’s head. “Stop thinking you can try.”

Duro leaned into the touch. He liked Chadara; she was tough, but sweet, and so fucking smart. He reminded her of Diona; or rather the type of girl Diona should be with. Duro knew that shipped had long sailed for him, and while Diona and Saxa were trying, Saxa wasn’t ready to settle down yet. Diona, like Duro, had started looking for that sense of security. He wondered if he could get her to fly down for a visit. She’d have a non-Saxa related reason. Her cousin lived somewhere around here.

Duro had to say _her cousin_. If he tried to even think of that name, he’d start mumbling and getting all embarrassed. Duro knew that somewhere, maybe twenty miles to the east, there was a bird sanctuary, run by a man who left him tongue-tied, and a boy with a too-sweet smile from Alabama. Duro had made a mistake thinking their business relationship was personal too; his face still burned with embarrassment over that moment. He hadn’t been able to verbally say the name _Auctus_ ever since. 

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” he asked Chadara.

Chadara shrugged. “I’d give it two months if everything goes well. Don’t expect it to be done in a week.”

The door to the porch slammed open and Nasir stormed out. He was fuming in a way that Duro easily recognized as a Case of the Agrons. 

“Your brother is an asshole,” Nasir said. He frowned when he sniffed the air and smelled the remnants of smoke. “You’re all fucking assholes.”

“I know,” Duro said. “Your one saving grace is Mira, but she doesn’t come along for the writing sessions.”

“Yet she was the once to _convince_ me to take you on,” Nasir muttered as he slid down beside Chadara.

Duro patted his shoulder in sympathy. “She’s all kinds of evil and powerful like that.”

“She _could_ have told us about your bassist issue,” Chadara said as she laid her head on Nasir’s shoulder. “At this point, I think we should put a double bass into your ensemble.”

Nasir perked up. “It’s an idea. If Metallica can record with an orchestra, Robert Plant record an album with Alison Krauss, and Folk Metal be a legitimate genre, than Crixus or Donar can play the double bass and stop wasting time by this endless fucking around. I don’t care who plays bass and who plays rhythm. This shit should be sorted out by now.” He pointed to Duro. “Your brother’s not helping anything by the way.”

“Welcome to the family,” Duro said. 

Nasir huffed, but they all grew silent as they watched the sun start to set. Duro could feel his eyes drooping and it was only the hand in his hair that pulled his attention from the skyline.

“Sleep,” Chadara said. “Enjoy the peace while it lasts.”

Duro wondered how both of them, not that much younger than himself, could already feel so old and wise. Their eyes spoke of lifetimes, long ones, and he wanted to know their histories. Chadara had exactly seven holes in one ear and five in the other. Duro felt that significant. Nasir had lines of ink peeking out from the under the soft sweaters he wore. He wanted to know _them_ as more than just those two people his band worked with once to try and remember what it was like to be excited about their music again. 

He leaned into the soft pull of Chadara’s skin, the tease of her golden hair, and smiled at Nasir’s low laugh.

“I’ll get a blanket,” Nasir said.

There was a sound like a yelp and Chadara shifted. “You’re not going anywhere,” she ordered.

Duro opened one eye to take in Nasir’s resigned face. He rolled his eyes at Chadara, yet didn’t dare argue with her. Duro shrugged and got comfortable again. It was too cold for his liking to really sleep out here, but the company was nice.

Almost felt a bit like what he’d heard called home.


End file.
